The trees gave way to a clearing, where a dozen wagons were arranged in circles around campfires. I halted and slid off the horse's back in the cover of the pine boughs, well out of the firelight.
People were sitting in clusters, turning spits made of tree branches. My mouth watered as the juices from a skinned hare dripped into the fire with a hiss. They divided the rich-smelling meat into portions, but to my frustration, they didn't take out sleeping rolls or retire for the night in their wagons after eating. Instead, they gathered at the center of the clearing, jostling for the best seat on one of the fallen logs that had been pulled into a semicircle around a fire. A woman with chestnut hair, her face carved in strong, striking lines, came forward and invited a girl of about nine or ten years old to choose a tale.
I sat on the ground on a bed of pine needles, my back against a tree trunk. Butter stood a few yards behind me, content to rest.
The girl chose the origin story, how the Frostbloods and Firebloods came to be. With her hands in her lap, the old woman seemed to grow taller and statelier in the dancing orange light. All faces leaned toward her, their excitement palpable as they listened.
"In the early days," said the storyteller in her low, melodious voice, "people had no frost or fire. They lived with the animals, wearing the skins of those they hunted, and were barely more than animals themselves. The gods of the four winds lived in the sky, each keeping to their own kingdoms, isolated but equal.
"Only Fors, the god of the north wind, was lonely. He wanted there to be someone like him, someone who reveled in blistering cold and biting ice." Her hands moved like white birds among the flickering shadows. "So he swept his hand to the glacier at the top of the world and gathered the coldest pieces. Then he shrank himself into human form and watched the human tribes as they warred with one another, endlessly killing and being killed."
"How were they killed, Magra?" asked a girl in a fascinated whisper.
"Kaitryn!" said her mother. "Don't ask such morbid questions."
Magra smiled and leaned close, as if she was familiar with the girl's thirst for gory details. "Any way you can think of. By their own hands, by stones and swords and axes."
"I bet it was terrible," the girl said with delight.
The storyteller nodded. "Fors said to the woman who ruled the tribes of the North, 'Here, take my ice and use it to freeze your enemies. Then no one will be able to defeat you.' He put the shard of ice into her wrist, and the vein turned blue. The woman's body became cold and her eyes turned pale. She raised her hand and smote the enemy tribesmen with deadly showers of frost and snow until everyone who was left ran from her in terror."
The girl clapped her hands, and some boys inched forward on the ground, their eyes bright in the firelight. Even the adults were still and silent, their gazes rapt.
"But Sud," said Magra with a stern look, "the goddess of the south wind, had loved a warrior of the defeated tribe, and it pierced her heart to watch him die. She saw how formidable the icy warrior woman had become and was afraid that she would kill all the other tribes."
Magra put out her fist as if she were holding something. "So Sud swept her hand into the great volcano, pulling out drops of bubbling lava. Then she shrank herself into human form and watched the people as they struggled to find food and to keep themselves safe from the ice tribe."
She opened her hand and spread her fingers as if she were bestowing a gift. "'Here,' the goddess said to a chieftain who ruled a tribe in the desert. 'Take this lava and use it to melt the ice of your enemies. Whoever defies you shall be burned. Then you will need to fight no more.' She put the drop of lava into the wrist of the chieftain, and the vein bubbled hot. The man's body warmed and his hair turned red. He raised his hand and cast fire at all his enemies, and no one dared defy him."
Magra made a sweeping gesture, her long sleeve billowing out, and the children shrank back, as if fire might spring from her fingers.
"Over time, the other tribes made alliances with frost or fire, the Fireblood and Frostblood leaders having reached a truce. Each claimed their lands on the earth. Maps were drawn, and the people found peace."
She paused as if that were the end of the story, and the listeners seemed to hold their breath.
"But Eurus, god of the east wind, was filled with envy. He went to Neb, the mother of the winds, to complain. He wanted to create his own creature. Neb was tired of her children fighting, so she declared there must be balance in all things. Whatever Eurus made, his sister Cirrus, goddess of the west wind, would have to make the opposite."